


Confidence

by flowerdeluce



Category: Independence Day (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Closeted Character, Creampie, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, First Time, Fluff, Getting Together, Lap Sex, M/M, Praise Kink, Pre-Canon, Rimming, Self Confidence Issues, Smut Swap 2019, Smut Swap Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 02:55:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18562477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerdeluce/pseuds/flowerdeluce
Summary: Milton chuckled. “When have you ever been one to take the easy way out?”He’d known Brackish a long time; when it came to his work, he’d always been a risk taker. You don’t get into Area 51 if you aren’t prepared to think so far outside the box you need a telescope to see it. But personal lives and work lives were separate. Brackish drew a hard line in the sand a long time ago in that regard.





	Confidence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saturni_stellis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturni_stellis/gifts).



> I hope you don't mind a late treat - these two didn't want to stop getting it on! 
> 
> Thank you for requesting this delightful pairing for Smut Swap. Your letter gave me the perfect excuse to write oodles of porn about them. I really hope you enjoy it!

When Milton was fifteen, Mrs. Walsh—his chemistry teacher—told him she envied his spirit when he’d been so excited about an experiment he could barely sit still. She’d said, with a melancholy yet reassuring tone, that life loses its excitement eventually: routine, the perils of aging, time – he should make the most of his youth while he could. 

Brackish didn’t get that memo. He got excited about new clipboards, those miniature sand lizards that found their way into the facility and into his lab coat pockets, even the squeaking his rubber-soled shoes made on newly-varnished floors. He was enthusiastic about absolutely everything.

Milton hadn’t gotten the memo either, thank goodness. Perhaps Mrs. Walsh’s warning kept him on his toes in that regard, because if life ever became tedious, he’d mix it up: redecorate; learn a new skill; challenge himself to remember the Latin name for every genus of fungi, feline or flowering plant; read a book in a new discipline, even if it meant looking up every other word; hell, even sign a contract for, let’s say, Area 51. 

From the moment he met Dr. Brackish Okun, he knew he’d found a kindred spirit. Brackish didn’t tire of anything. He had no time for boredom. No time for sleep either; he was one of those people who could pull triple shifts on three hours’ sleep, without coffee. (He hated coffee.) For the first time, Milton found something more fascinating than the contents of a petri dish. Someone, rather. 

The other researchers described Brackish as eccentric, even unstable, but that was only because they didn’t bother getting to know him. The main reason they avoided him was his chattiness. Even if you kept the conversation purely casual, the weather for instance, Brackish could turn it into a scientific debate, a babbled conversation he’d end up having with himself sprinkled with facts and theories and expressive hand gestures that were his own unique brand of sign language. Milton liked listening to him talk—and watching him talk—from across the canteen. Where the others tuned Brackish out, left him sitting on his own so they might eat in peace, he’d try to tune in, catch his wavelength and energy, then spend the rest of the day feeling lighter following a few minutes in his company. 

He realized Brackish didn’t like physical contact when he’d known him, oh, six months? (And known him as in worked under the same roof – their fields may have differed, but their paths crossed often.) The first sign was when someone tapped Brackish’s arm in the observatory to get his attention and it shocked him so much he hit his head on the telescope. Another time, one of Brackish’s assistants offered him a high-five after they discovered a link between high-intensity bursts of ultraviolet radiation and the alien craft’s control panel. Brackish rose to the challenge but spent a long while wiping his hands on his lab coat afterward, wringing them as though he knew he’d contracted some incurable virus. 

It was strange remembering that now Brackish had a near-magnetic pull to Milton’s touches. He still put that wall up to others, and in company they kept their distance, but when they were alone, there was no greater comfort than watching Brackish’s eyelids flutter closed, the tension in his muscles melt away, as Milton swept his hair behind his ear or stroked his chin to remind him to shave, always gentle. 

They’d talked around the fact that they were an item for so long they’d come full circle, two schoolboys head over heels but too nervous to admit it. It took so long that Brackish told him he loved him before they’d even discussed what they were. That settled it, though. Because Milton loved him too, so much, and all they’d needed to do was link hands under the lab bench and smile for the conversation to be over without a word. 

Milton started calling him baby as a joke. It was Brackish’s reaction that made the name stick: adorably red cheeks and a wide smile badly-concealed behind long silvery curtains of hair. He never said he didn’t like it, so Milton didn’t stop saying it. Eventually, Brackish started saying it back.

They’d always keep their own quarters because Brackish would always appreciate his personal space. Milton hadn’t wanted to put any undue pressure on him to share his bed, but the offer was there. Week after week, slowly but surely, Brackish moved his things into Milton’s room—toothbrush, glasses cloth and case, a tie, a few pairs of bobbled socks—until one night, unannounced, he moved into Milton’s bed for those precious few hours he slept at night. 

He usually climbed under the covers when Milton was already asleep (though his shuffling and turning often woke him) and left before he woke up. Milton itched to kiss him on those occasions, to hold him close, but Brackish got giddy and nervous whenever there were fewer than six inches between them in a space reserved for a different level of intimacy. Brackish had to be the one to initiate it, and that would require a lot of patience. 

Well, it took thirty-eight months to get to this point, what were a few more?

*

Brackish had come to bed early (for him) and shuffled up to Milton’s back under the cover. Close, but not touching. 

“Baby?” he whispered, checking that Milton was awake. “Do you think I’m weird?” 

“What?” He turned on his pillow to see Brackish’s blue eyes sparkling in the semi-darkness, almost like he’d been crying. 

After a long pause, hesitation shifting across his face, Brackish closed his eyes and shook his head. “Never mind.” Lying on his back, he sunk into the pillow with a sigh. “It doesn’t matter.” 

Milton reached over and stroked his face. “Yes, it does.”

Brackish sighed, turning into Milton’s palm slightly, soaking up the attention. “I heard some of the astros gossiping.” He parted his lips as Milton stroked his temple, fingertips dipping into his hair. “It doesn’t matter, I just… They said I was ‘too weird’.” 

“Too weird,” Milton repeated, chuckling. “Where do they draw the line?” 

“It’s not funny,” Brackish said, serious, opening his eyes and taking Milton’s wrist to stop his hand venturing further into his hair.

Negative comments usually washed over Brackish like he hadn’t heard them, had been filtered out by a forcefield before reaching his eardrums. He wasn’t the kind of guy who cared what others thought of him, especially in the work environment. Seemed he cared enough to ask what Milton thought, though. He better put him straight. 

“You’re the perfect amount of weird for me.” 

Brackish’s broken expression wasn’t what he’d expected. 

“So you do agree with them?” 

“Brackish, are you honestly asking if I’ve fooled myself into thinking my boyfriend is a perfectly average blue-collar guy who just happens to dissect aliens for a living?” Brackish wasn’t getting it. “No, baby. I don’t agree with them. I love you, whatever level of weirdness you’re operating on.” 

When Brackish wasn’t immediately reassured, he changed tack. “I love you the most when you’re smiling, though.” A grin flashed across Brackish’s face. “There,” he encouraged, unable to stop himself touching his cheek again. “Gorgeous.”

Coy, Brackish turned away, Milton’s fingers catching the edge of his glasses and displacing them. He scoffed, pushing them back into place. “Don’t be stupid.” 

Turning Brackish’s face by his chin, Milton looked into his eyes. “You don’t care for my opinion now?” 

“Yeah.” His brief smile didn’t reach his eyes. “But you don’t have to lie.” 

Milton frowned. Lie?

“I’m not much to look at. I know that.” He shrugged with one shoulder, averted his gaze. “I appreciate the thought, but you don’t have to humor me.” 

Had he really never told him how beautiful he was? Did that thought never make it past his mental filter? Did Brackish not simply understand that his heart leaped through the roof, through the Earth’s very atmosphere, every time he smiled at him, kissed his cheek after breakfast, wrapped his curls around his fingers when he was lost in thought?

“I’m not humoring you,” Milton said, voice weaker than intended. He was ashamed. Why had he assumed Brackish knew? “Baby... I’m sorry, I…” He pressed a kiss to his forehead; he shrank away from it. “You’re beautiful.” 

Brackish looked like he didn’t believe it, turned into the pillow. Slowly, a smile brightened his face. Then, he asked, bashful, “Really?” 

“Are you kidding? I’d have to be blind if I didn’t think myself lucky to have a blue-eyed silver fox in my bed every night.” The words felt strange coming out of his mouth, but that wasn’t to say he didn’t mean them. And if saying them made Brackish smile as much as he was now, he’d have to remind himself to do so every day. 

Hiding half his face behind his hand, Brackish was silent a moment, letting the words sink in. With renewed confidence, he shuffled across the bed, closing the space between them until he was pressed up against Milton’s side, head nestled in the crook of his shoulder. 

They fell asleep like that and, when Milton woke in the morning, Brackish was still there. 

*

In terms of a work/life balance, Brackish hadn’t had one before Milton – his life had been only his work, and he’d preferred it that way. Milton was part of that work, therefore a part of his life, but gradually, he was allowing himself more personal time with him. He took and covered fewer shifts, allowed other researchers access to the kinds of experiments which would’ve once required his round-the-clock supervision, even left the compound on one occasion for a ‘date’ at the most isolated Wendy’s on the west coast.

Brackish’s confidence regarding their relationship wouldn’t improve overnight. It’d take tiny, baby steps. Milton wouldn’t rush him, let him take things at his own pace, because he was worth the wait. Small changes in their relationship thrilled Brackish: cooking for each other, even though Brackish could burn water; celebrating Valentine’s Day; borrowing each other’s clothes. Milton was proud of him for overcoming his nervousness regarding intimacy, too. They cuddled every night and kissed on occasion, though Brackish usually got so giggly it didn’t last long. Milton remembered to drop reminders into the every day: how much he loved him, needed him; how much he looked forward to seeing him again whenever they were apart. 

On a rare, shared evening off, snuggled together on Milton’s sofa half-watching The X Files, Brackish asked for a kiss out of the blue. 

“Seeing as you asked so politely,” Milton said with a smile, sliding his hand along Brackish’s thigh and leaning in. 

Their mouths brushed as Milton slid a hand into Brackish’s long, loose hair, holding him lightly to stop his inevitable fidgeting. Brackish didn’t appear to run on the same energy as everyone else. It was like he was constantly plugged into some invisible electrical current that stopped him from sitting still, even while he slept. Brackish grabbed him while they kissed shallowly, fingers kneading into Milton’s shoulders before his hands journeyed everywhere: the back of his neck, his bearded chin, his shirt collar, his thighs. It was like there were too many things he wanted to do at once and, if he couldn’t settle on one of them, he’d try for them all. 

Milton took Brackish’s hands and brought them to his lap one by one, holding them still a moment before leaning in for another kiss. He often countered Brackish’s overexcitement with steadiness. Nothing phased him.

When Brackish’s tongue slid over Milton’s lips, he couldn’t suppress a groan. That was rare, wonderful. Immediately, Brackish’s hands were on him again, everywhere and anywhere, grabbing and pulling with unnecessary urgency. In the flurry, he parted his lips and pressed in harder, giving Milton an opportunity to flick his tongue into his mouth and delight in his reaction. They rarely managed more than this before Brackish became self-conscious and ended things with a thank you or a cuddle. Milton craved a minute more, that’s all he wanted: one more minute of Brackish’s soft, wet lips on his.

He moved Brackish’s hands to his lap again, stroking his thumbs over his knuckles while their tongues moved together, slow and mesmeric. Kissing along Brackish’s jaw, he smiled when he tipped his head back, giving him access to his neck, trembling as his hot tongue laved sensitive skin. He squeezed Milton’s wrists, holding on for dear life, and whimpered. The sound was a bolt of lightning to Milton’s groin, sparking a kind of desire he wasn’t used to. 

“Baby,” he whispered, holding Brackish’s face as he kissed his chin, over his open mouth, tongued his bottom lip gently. 

His heart raced as he palmed Brackish’s hair, letting his silken curls fall through his fingers. When Brackish took his wrist, he suspected that was a sign that it was over. But he wasn’t moving him away, ending things. He was leading Milton’s hand between his legs. 

“Oh,” Milton said, mildly stunned to feel Brackish’s impressive erection tenting the crotch of his pants. “That’s…” He wanted to say different, but… that sounded wrong. Well, he had to say something, but his mind drew a blank and flatly refused to generate any word in any language. He ran his thumb along the solid length of Brackish’s erection instead, marveling at it, his mouth watering. 

“That’s?” Brackish pushed, voice unsteady, still holding Milton’s wrist tight. 

Milton swallowed, drew a deep breath. “Interesting.” Well, it was a word at least. It wasn’t the ‘wow’ or the ‘holy shit’ that had repeated in his head since he first touched it, but it was something.

Brackish laughed nervously, eyes darting everywhere. Milton squeezed his hand to steady him.

“Would you like me to… help you with that?” 

Laughing again, Brackish grabbed Milton’s shoulders with renewed confidence. He seemed eager, not panicked, which was a good sign. “I want to…” He lowered his eyes, wet his lips with his tongue and panted a little. His gaze darted over to Milton’s bed, then back to his face.

Milton swept Brackish’s curls from his face, waiting patiently for him to find the courage to spell out what he wanted. 

“If you don’t want to I…” Brackish shuffled closer, hands roaming again, stuttering. “I-I just thought – it might be—”

“Baby,” Milton interrupted, kissing his cheek. “Anything you want. It’s yours.” 

*

Kissing Brackish in a bed, their bed, was an utter delight. Something about lying down made him easier to placate, though he was no less fidgety. There weren’t many places to shuffle away to, there was only the crook of Milton’s shoulder to hide his face in or his chest to press against. When Brackish took those breaks, Milton waited patiently for him to get his breath back (and his nerve.) 

They’d both climbed into bed with their clothes on, and under the blanket too. Milton expected it would be a long while before Brackish would feel comfortable out of his clothes, but after a wonderfully long, slow kiss, Brackish mumbled that he was too hot. Reaching under the sheet, careful not to reveal himself, he pulled off his pants and tossed them onto the floor. 

Pressing his lips along Brackish’s throat, Milton asked where he’d to be touched. Brackish only panted in response, gripped his shoulders. He asked again, kissing the sensitive spot beneath Brackish’s ear, brushing his hair back against the pillow. When he answered, it wasn’t with words – he led Milton’s hand under the cover, low down, encouraging. Milton wasn’t going to double-check. 

Tipping his head back, Brackish’s lips parted when Milton’s palm covered his cock through his boxers. A gentle squeeze and his mouth opened wider, a calm sigh escaping. Milton grit his teeth and swallowed. Resting his forehead to Brackish’s temple, he felt the shape of his cock through the cotton, from the patch of moisture at the tip down to the warm swell of his balls and back again.

“Can I take these off?” he asked, teasing the elasticated edge of Brackish’s boxers with a finger.

Immediately, Brackish panicked. His whole body tensed, knees raising as he turned into Milton like a frightened creature curling into a ball for its own protection. He stammered, searching for an answer while pressing his face into Milton’s chest.

“Shh, baby,” Milton soothed, kissing the top of his head. “If you’re uncomfortable, it’s okay. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want.” 

“Do you really want to?” Brackish asked, timid but interested.

“Only if you do.” 

Brackish looked up at him, blinking rapidly, his mouth open like a word was stuck in it. “I—” He tried hard to get the word unstuck, frustrated with himself. “I— I’m… kinda embarrassed.” 

“Of this?” Milton covered Brackish’s erection with his hand again and he jolted, eyes falling closed. He rode his palm along the firm shape of a cock that had been nothing less than iron-hard since they climbed into bed, that he wanted to suck until Brackish screamed. “Feels like something to be proud of to me.” 

Brackish’ cheeks flooded with color, his eyelids fluttering as he lost himself in the sensation. “Really?” 

Leaning in to kiss him, Milton hummed a positive sound into his mouth. The amount of willpower required to keep things as slow as Brackish needed was making his head spin; he hadn’t been this turned on in years. Taking Brackish’s hand, he led it to his crotch to prove it. Brackish gasped when his fingers made contact, pulling back sharply before rushing to take it in his hand again. Milton jerked at the rough, overexcited contact. “Gently, baby…” 

Their hands explored while they kissed deep and slow. Brackish followed Milton’s lead, rubbing him slow and steady and fascinatedly while Milton did the same. Relaxed. Hypnotized by the movement and the sensations. So close they almost didn’t need their hands. They could’ve rutted together until the sun came up and neither of them would’ve complained. 

“Take them off,” Brackish blurted mid-kiss, panting against Milton’s wet lips. “I—I want you to.”

Milton kissed Brackish onto his back, lips on his throat as he eased his boxer’s elastic over his hips, felt his cock spring free under the sheet. Brackish kicked them off, breathing heavy. His strangled moan when Milton wrapped his fingers around his bare shaft forced a hiss through his teeth. They were so close. Not being able to see him, to taste him, to fuck him, was a most agreeable kind of torture. 

“Baby,” Milton breathed, sliding his tongue over Brackish’s neck as his hand worked him. Brackish was rock hard, his skin silky smooth. Thumb sliding through the wetness gathered at the tip, Milton stroked the delicate but taught skin beneath the head, brushed fingertips through his pubes and along the length of him, gentle and teasing. “Is that nice?” 

“So nice,” Brackish slurred, arching up, trembling from head to toe. 

Encouraging Brackish’s legs apart a little, Milton let his fingers wander along his inner thighs, tickling the sensitive skin until he giggled. He stroked him everywhere, getting him used to touch, hand wandering his thighs, the sharp symmetrical juts of his hipbones. Brackish fidgeted constantly. Cupping Brackish’s balls in his palm, he rolled them gently, squeezed them even more gently, and delighted in the low groan he made. 

“Do you trust me, baby?” Milton asked.

Brackish nodded. 

After sucking his finger, Milton reached under the sheet and slipped it between the soft crease of Brackish’s buttocks. The tip brushed his ass for the briefest moment.

“Oh god,” Brackish breathed, anything but nervous. Closing his eyes, he parted his thighs a little wider, legs trembling. Well, wasn’t he full of surprises? 

“You want me to?” 

Everything about Brackish’s body language screamed that he was embarrassed—turning into Milton’s chest, hiding his face in his shirt—but his whispered ‘yeah… please’ seemed anything but. 

Milton had a tube of lube in his nightstand drawer, ‘borrowed’ from medical’s storage months ago. It was only natural he fingered himself every now and then, just for the release. Healthy even. And he couldn’t help hoping he’d one day have occasion to use it with Brackish, though the chance always seemed wafer thin. Forward thinking, in this instance, had been advantageous. 

Brackish had to let go of him while he rolled over to retrieve it. The moment he turned back to him, his head went straight back under his chin. 

“Have you done this before?” Milton asked out of curiosity, mostly, but he didn’t want Brackish to be nervous. 

“To myself a couple’a times,” Brackish whispered. “In the bath.”

“Do you like it?”

“I’m not very good at it.” 

Milton smiled. He was a doctor; he’d find Brackish’s prostate in seconds, knew how a delicate but persistent touch could make his toes curl. It was always tricky getting the angle right solo. The thought of making Brackish come hard with his fingers buried in his ass had him biting his lip. 

He encouraged Brackish to hook his closest leg over his lap and bend his other knee, offering the perfect angle for his fingers to sink right in. Brackish took the direction, shuffling and laughing nervously, breathless, checking and re-checking that his position was correct and comfortable for Milton. The moment Milton flipped the lube’s cap, Brackish fell silent, tensed everywhere.

“So,” Milton said, kissing Brackish’s cheek while squeezing a generous amount of lubricant over his index finger, “you do this in the bath?” Asking distracting questions was every doctor’s go-to method of placating an anxious patient. If Brackish was nervous, this wouldn’t be as enjoyable as it could be for either of them, so he’d do anything he could to soothe him.

Brackish huffed a laugh. “Once or twice.” 

With gentle pressure, he parted Brackish’s buttocks with his wet finger and drew it up and down, coating him in the slippery liquid. “What do you think about while you do it?”

Brackish’s mouth hung open, fast, shallow breaths warming the space between them while Milton teased. “Y-you,” he managed. 

“I’m honored.” 

Pressing, using barely any force, Milton’s finger slid in to the second knuckle, eased by the lubricant and the angle. Brackish shuddered, clung to a handful of Milton’s hair. He could hardly believe Brackish was letting him do this, something he’d fantasized about many times but never in a million years thought would ever happen. There weren’t enough words or enough kisses to show his gratitude. 

“Easy, baby.” Milton withdrew, pressing in again, causing Brackish to near hyperventilate. “Stay nice and relaxed for me.” He pressed in further, until he was as deep as he could be, astounded that Brackish hadn’t panicked and bolted to the other side of the room. “You’re doing so well.” 

Brackish’s fists twisted the sheets, the shoulder and collar of Milton’s shirt, his own shirt, his own hair, hands a flurry of movement. Hopefully it wasn’t discomfort, though Milton could read his body language pretty well. Perhaps it was frustration over the fact that it didn’t feel as good as he’d hoped. Well, he could change that. Curling his finger upwards, he felt for Brackish’s prostate. He knew when he’d found it. 

“Fuck!” Brackish’s whole body convulsed in one sharp spasm, fingers digging into the sheet and Milton’s shoulder. He moaned, the sound as surprised as it was weak; it went straight to Milton’s groin, made his mouth water. 

Milton did it again, kneading Brackish’s prostate in tiny circles with his fingertip, watching fascinatedly as Brackish’s body responded with great waves of shuddering, muscles fluttering around his finger, breathy groans muffled into his chest. “Is that good, baby?” 

Brackish laughed, almost scoffed, legs writhing on the sheets. “Good? It’s…” A whimper cut him off, broke his sentence in half, transforming it into a drawled, “Yeah.” 

Giving him a break from direct stimulation, Milton eased his finger in and out, nudging all the right places, building friction. His finger was soaked, the sound of its movement making the hairs stand to attention on the back of his neck. 

“Want another?” he asked, teasing Brackish’s soaked pucker with two fingertips. 

Brackish shook his head. “I… don’t know…” 

“It’s okay.” He pressed in again. Brackish’s body was so relaxed now, gave hardly any resistance. “Whatever you want, baby.” 

Breathing fast, Brackish pressed his head back into the pillow, eyes closed tight. “I only ever…” His mouth fell open as Milton’s finger teased his prostate again, the words turning to breath. 

“It’s okay,” Milton repeated, kissing Brackish’ temple. “I could do this all day.” 

A brief smile flashed across Brackish’s lips. Then he was writhing again, grabbing at the sheets, unable to process the pleasure. Milton could do this all day, but he might die in the process. He’d never been this hard in his life and for so long. So hard he ached. So aroused he felt light-headed. As he fingered Brackish, alternating between shallow and deep, his body betrayed him: his hips moved of their own accord, rutting against Brackish’s thigh. The relief was fleeting, because now he needed more contact, more friction, and the sound Brackish made only intensified the need.

“You’re still hard,” Brackish breathed, surprised. 

“Of course I am.” He kissed him, drew his lower lip into his mouth and sucked while massaging Brackish’s prostate, wondering how on Earth he hadn’t come yet. Despite his sometimes debilitating shyness, Brackish certainly had stamina. 

Withdrawing, he took Brackish’s cock into his hand; it warmed his palm as he wrapped his fingers around it, stroked his fist up and down. He wanted… so many things. But how to tell Brackish he was this desperate for him without freaking him out? All he could do was kiss him, walk his fingertips along the length of him and dip them into him, wishing he could see the intimate places they touched.

“I love you so much, baby,” he whispered, rutting against Brackish’s thigh again. He could come like this: fully-clothed, burning up under the duvet, hand aching between Brackish’s legs while he wriggled and writhed and whimpered. It might take a while, but he could. “So much.” 

Those words seemed to ignite something in Brackish. Turning into Milton’s neck, he asked for that second finger. Milton shivered at the request and complied immediately. How could he refuse? 

With another squeeze of lubricant, Brackish took the extra finger with ease. They slid into him, slow and steady, stretching him open.

“You feel amazing,” Milton breathed, competing with Brackish’s moaning. He pumped his fingers in deep, whispering into his ear as he bracketed them around his prostate and pinched it delicately. “So soft, and…” 

Brackish grabbed him, kissed his face, his jaw, his neck, in more control of himself. “Tell me.” He wanted more praise, more compliments. Milton didn’t even have to think for them to come pouring out.

“You’re doing so good, baby, so good. The way you moan...” He bit his lip when Brackish nibbled his throat, hissed through his teeth. “You’ve got me so turned on I can hardly speak. You’re making me want to…” He stopped himself. Brackish might spook if he told him how desperately he wanted to suck his cock, slide his tongue where his fingers were buried, fuck him so well he started believing in God. 

“Do it,” Brackish said, almost impatient. “Whatever it is. Do it.” 

“Would you like to…” God, he couldn’t say it. 

“Make love?” Brackish whispered, almost inaudible.

Milton’s heart overflowed at the term. Pursing his lips, he concealed a smile. He had to say it back to him just so he could hear how lovely it sounded. So sweet. So Brackish. “Would you like me to make love to you, baby?” 

Brackish kissed him desperately, frantic, a ‘please’ muffled against his lips. He combed his fingers through Milton’s hair, over and over, clawing at him. Then, “Please, please, please.” Clearer this time.

He could’ve come from Brackish’s begging alone. Who knew how he was going to last once he was inside him? 

“Roll over, baby,” Milton encouraged, a hand on Brackish’s waist. 

“But I want to see you.” 

“You’ll be more comfortable if—”

Brackish pulled back sharply, looking up into Milton’s eyes, almost full-on pouting. “I need to see you.” Stroking Milton’s cheek, he batted his eyelids, knowing full well he’d give him whatever he wanted. 

The duvet had to remain over them. Brackish made that clear. It wasn’t a problem, though shuffling out of his pants and boxers without disturbing their cover was tricky. Once naked from the waist down, he climbed on top of him, unbuttoning Brackish’s shirt a few buttons to kiss his chest, his shoulders, even his wrists, just excited as he was that this was actually, finally happening. The touch of his bare groin against Brackish’s warm skin, their erections bumping beneath the sheet, made them gasp then smile in tandem. Shuffling into place, he pushed Brackish’s thighs back gently. 

“Wait!” Brackish’s eyes went wide. “Aren’t you, uh, gonna use a condom?”

“Would you like me to?” He didn’t have any, so he really hoped Brackish wouldn’t say yes. But, for him, he’d run down to the medical facility in his dressing gown, hard as a diamond, and grab the storage room’s whole supply if he had to. 

He could almost see Brackish’s mind whirring at the question, a jumble of finely-tuned cogs leading him down the path of realizing that they couldn’t work where they worked if they had any kind of medical condition whatsoever. They were both fitter than a butcher’s dog. 

“I… guess not.” 

“You sure?” Nudging his nose along Brackish’s chest, he sucked at the hard line of his collar bone. His chest hair, as silver as the hair on his head, tickled his cheeks.

“Yeah.” 

There was more kissing, more wriggling, Brackish pulling Milton close with both hands and not letting him move. Milton worried he was stalling him, nerves building up until he changed his mind about the whole thing. Gently withdrawing from his grip, he pushed Brackish’s shirt up and stroked the smooth flesh of his belly. He was thinner than he’d imagined, a frailer body disguised under baggy layers and lab clothes. Then his hand moved lower, refocusing. 

Brackish gasped when Milton squeezed a generous amount of lube onto him. 

“You okay, baby?”

“Yeah. It’s cold.”

Reaching under the sheet, Milton smoothed a palmful of the chilly lube along his own length, closing his eyes and inhaling a deep, slow breath at how close he was already. His cock ached, swollen harder and heavier than it had ever been. He was aware he was above averagely endowed; Brackish was a saint, really, for wanting it inside him, and if he could actually get it inside him without coming, it’d be a miracle. 

“Ready?” 

Brackish trembled with excitement, blinking and fidgeting, but in good spirits. He nodded sharply, kept nodding like a bobble-head until Milton held his face in his palm, stroked his thumb over his lips to soothe him. Their eyes locked as Milton sought the right angle, positioning himself blind under the sheet as Brackish breathed loud and nervous, making small, anxious noises on every exhale like a frightened puppy. Lining himself up, Milton rocked his hips forwards. The head of his cock sunk into Brackish’s tight, wet hole, forcing his mouth open in a silent gasp. 

“Oh… Oh, God… Brackish, baby.” He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, had to make a conscious effort to prise his eyelids open to make sure Brackish was okay. 

As he sank in deeper, every muscle in Brackish’s body liquefied. His hands fell from where they’d clutched at Milton’s shoulders, lay limp either side of his head as his thighs fell open, slack and useless. He was hardly breathing, his lips parted, eyes closed, unreadable. 

“What happened to needing to see me?” Milton teased, shivering as he tried to concentrate on anything but the warm, incredible heat grasping his cock like a velvet vice. “Baby?”

Brackish was motionless, silent, his only reaction an almost imperceptible trembling, that electrical current humming under his skin. 

“Breathe, baby,” Milton encouraged, rubbing circles into Brackish’s hip with his free hand. “It’ll get better.” 

Unable to hold himself up any longer, Milton came down onto his forearms, his weight pressing Brackish’s legs further apart. He sank in deeper, Brackish’s body giving no resistance until he was as deep as he could be. It felt like nothing he’d ever experienced, utterly sublime, but his concern for Brackish distracted him. He’d never seen him so subdued. Not daring to move, he remained still, let Brackish adjust to his girth, hoping he hadn’t caused his energetic lover to short-circuit or something. 

“Baby,” Milton whispered, running the tip of his tongue along Brackish’s stubbled jawline to coax some reaction. “Talk to me.”

“Tell me…” Brackish said, voice languid, low, almost a breath. His eyes, finally open, were heavy-lidded like he was drugged, pupils blown wide. 

“You feel amazing. Are amazing.” Milton kissed his throat, turned Brackish’s head to get closer. It flopped to one side on the pillow, boneless. He asked into the crook of his shoulder, “Do you like it?”

“Mmm.” He drew a small, shaking breath through his nose. 

“Want me to move?” 

“Mmm.” 

Seemed language was lost on Brackish when he was full of cock. The knowledge that this was perhaps the only way to placate him made Milton shiver. He lifted his hips, trembling with the effort, until Brackish only had the tip of him. When he sank back in, all the way, he hummed a groan into Brackish’s shoulder at how easily he took him. He needed something to grab, something to squeeze. A handful of Brackish’s hair did the trick.

“I can’t believe how good you feel, baby.” It was true. They fit together perfectly. Brackish was tight, but not uncomfortably so, not like those fumbled fucks at university with guys he’d never loved, never even really liked. Brackish was so relaxed they couldn’t be any closer. Trapped between their bodies, his iron-hard cock throbbed, prodding Milton’s belly, an obvious sign that he was enjoying himself when the rest of him gave nothing away.

He moved again, arching his hips after letting his weight press him back in. Brackish kept still, silent, breathing shallow, his fingers twitching against the sheets. It was like he’d been shot with one of those tranquilizer darts. 

“What do you want?” Milton asked, finding a slow, steady rhythm of almost pulling out, then pushing in deep and holding firm. “Tell me what to do, baby.” He sucked the spot beneath Brackish’s ear again, trying to stay sane when all he wanted to do was fill Brackish until he overflowed. “I want to make you come.” 

“Oh…” Brackish breathed, finally reacting. He sighed a long, weak sigh and raised a limp hand around Milton’s waist. 

“Think you could come from this?” Milton asked, maintaining his gentle pace, smiling at how Brackish’s eyes rolled back at the question. “Could you come with me inside you?”

Brackish’s fingertips dug into Milton’s back, his mouth opening as he breathed heavier, deeper. 

Milton held Brackish’s face, kneaded his thumb into his cheek. “You’re so beautiful.” When Brackish swallowed, whimpered at the praise, Milton’s hips bucked forward instinctively, sharp and deep. Brackish gasped, moaned softly. “You like that?” He bucked his hips again. 

“Yes!” 

Still stroking Brackish’s face with loving attention, Milton thrust harder, enough that the muffled slam of their hips under the sheet filled the room. Brackish whined, trembling, and held Milton with both hands. 

Worried he’d get carried away, Milton slowed down. Brackish turned his face into his cheek, pressed weak lips to Milton’s to encourage him to kiss him. It was hardly what you could call a kiss. It was a feeble press of lips, mouths open, hot breath warming the other’s tongue. Milton swept a lick over Brackish’s lips, thrust in deep and pressed his hips up forcefully so he’d really feel it. Brackish’s moan washed over his tongue, flooded down his spine.

“You’ve got me so close,” Milton whispered, pressing his forehead to Brackish’s and closing his eyes. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll last.” 

Panting into Milton’s mouth, Brackish rubbed his back through his shirt, pulled him closer in a wordless ‘go on then’. 

“You first, baby.” 

Brackish’s fingers twisted in Milton’s hair. “Then don’t stop.” His cheeks flushed pink. “Fuck me.”

Oh. Oh, that did it. Milton grabbed Brackish’s hand, pinned it to the bed and squeezed hard as their fingers linked. Brackish wanting it hard, after so much silence and gentleness, so much concern that he was hurting him or that he silently wanted to flee, was all the encouragement he needed. 

Thrusting in, Milton stayed buried deep, barely withdrawing, rolling his hips with his whole weight behind it, hitting Brackish’s prostate over and over. Releasing his hand, he gripped his thigh to stop him slithering away under the strength of his thrusts, pounding him hard enough that the bed rocked on its frame, the mattress creaking to the slow but fierce tempo his hips set. He wanted to watch his cock disappearing into Brackish’s body, spread and stretched and glistening wet, impaled. Feeling it was enough.

Brackish hyperventilated, gasping and whining like he was in pain but grabbing Milton and groaning like he wasn’t. Milton couldn’t help but ramble incoherent praise into his shoulder, fuck him deep while kneading fingers into the soft flesh of his thigh, trembling as he realized he wasn’t going to last much longer. 

Brackish grabbed him, tried to stop him moving. “Too much! Oh! It’s too much. Milton…” His body tensed, clenched tight around Milton’s cock. He was close. As his head ground back onto the pillow, hair splaying everywhere, he begged him to slow down. 

Milton almost couldn’t comply. His hips wanted to move of their own accord, impaling Brackish deep and fast. Finding the strength to slow down, to stay buried deep while Brackish shook and fluttered and whimpered, had him perspiring from the effort. He had to keep himself together, right on the edge, energy coursing through him desperate for release. But he was weak, and only human. 

“Shit! I’m gonna come.” Pressing his forehead into Brackish’s shoulder, he tried to stop it. Counting in his head. Biting his lip. Alphabetising the periodic table. Nothing worked. He couldn’t defy biology. It was already too late; he was gone, past the point of no return. “Brackish, baby, I’m…” 

With a loud sob, Brackish shuddered, body tensing so tight it almost hurt. Wetness flooded the space between them as he came against Milton’s belly; he’d beaten him to it. 

The sensation, the sound, the sight of Brackish coming dragged Milton over the edge and all the way down. Collapsing under the weight of the feeling, he groaned into Brackish’s neck as his balls emptied in a cascade of spams, his cock throbbing, pulsing, releasing more and more, so much and so continuous he could faint. It leaked out of Brackish, soaking them where their bodies joined, where Milton wished he could stay forever. 

He wanted to apologize for making such a mess, but a surge of possessiveness had him bucking into the wetness, fucking it back inside him. The slippery warmth of Brackish’s limp body was pure bliss, enough to tease another spurt of come out of him that left him seeing stars. He’d never come so much in his life. 

While Milton’s every atom turned to jelly and he tried to remember how to breathe in the logical in-out order, Brackish locked his arms around his shoulders and held him tight, nuzzling into his hair while panting warm breath across his skin. 

“I’m so in love with you,” he whispered, holding him so tight it threatened to stop Milton breathing. 

Milton’s cock twitched and they both gasped. There couldn’t possibly be more. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, must’ve been crushing Brackish but could do nothing about it at this moment in time. He didn’t seem to mind. 

“I love you so much.” Brackish pressed kisses along the side of his throat, fingers kneading into his scalp and along the back of his neck, somehow finding the energy to move, to whisper ‘I love you’ between every kiss like a mantra.

He let him touch, kiss him, wriggling and smiling, his usual liveliness returning as quickly as it disappeared. Slowly, gently, Milton pulled out, trying not to think about how good Brackish would look right now, stretched and leaking and wrecked. Rolling onto his side, he took Brackish’s face in both hands and kissed him back, tongued Brackish’s open mouth and let him suck and lick and nibble at his lips. 

Once mutual exhaustion set in, Milton slumped onto the pillow and stared at Brackish, his hair a mess, trying to keep his eyes open so he could look back. Their hands linked under the sheet, Brackish’s fingers squeezing around his palm. 

*

The facility served breakfast. On mornings when Milton had to rush to the surgery to look after a new arrival (or the rare occasion he overslept), he was happy to grab something hot and greasy from the canteen and eat it on the walk to his office. He much preferred spending his early mornings in his quarters with Brackish, enjoying that pocket of calm where neither of them had anywhere to be and getting a good breakfast down them was their only concern. 

Milton made breakfast. He had a routine, could get fried eggs, toast, coffee and a jug of orange juice for Brackish from fridge to table in under seven minutes—and yes, he timed himself, had a record and everything (four minutes and twenty-seven seconds, which you have to admit is quite impressive.) Brackish offered to make breakfast almost every morning and almost every morning Milton said that he preferred to do it. He did, but he also couldn’t stand the mess Brackish left in every conceivable place: eggshells falling down the gap between the stove and the sideboard, bread bag and coffee jar left open to go stale, fridge re-stocked incorrectly. It was better in the long run, for Milton’s peace of mind and the state of their food, if Milton did the honors. 

The small pull-out table housed them both nicely, left enough room for their plates and drinks, a fake flower in a stem vase and just enough space for Brackish to leaf through his latest notebook crammed full of notes and equations and theories. Milton was devouring a triangle of toast, watching Brackish do exactly that when the thought came to him. 

“When do you think we should tell the others about us?” 

The notebook leaped out of Brackish’s hand like it was possessed, scribbled notes on paper scraps sliding across the kitchen floor as it landed pages-down. 

“What!” 

Milton repeated the question as Brackish bent, scrabbling to collect the myriad of bits and pieces. 

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” Brackish sat up, stiff as a board, and slipped the notebook into the large breast pocket of his lab coat that was draped over the back of his chair. 

Through another mouthful of toast, Milton asked, “Why not?” 

Brackish looked uncomfortable. “I guess I…” He stared at the edge of the table and dug his thumb into one of the knots in the wood. “I’m not comfortable with anyone knowing.” A glance up at him, then down again. “Yet.”

Milton thought it best not to bring up Ursula. Ursula was one of the canteen servers, a chatty middle-aged woman with a loud voice and soft heart. She never crossed the line into questioning the kind of work that went on in areas her pass denied her access to but gossiped about anything and everything to do with the people who worked there. Ursula was a sweetheart, harmless for the most part, but she was too observant for her own good sometimes. He and Brackish had been seeing each other for barely more than a week when she planted herself in the seat opposite in the canteen and asked, ‘How long?’ and then, upon seeing Milton’s confused expression, followed it up with, ‘How long have you and the research director been dating?’ She swore on her dear mom’s grave that she’d never mention it to anyone, especially Brackish, and Milton believed her. He’d been meaning to mention it to Brackish but… it never really came up. 

“Yet,” Milton said, repeating Brackish’s addendum before glugging down the dregs of his coffee. “Is there a certain length of time you’d like to wait until we tell someone?” He regretted how accusatory the question sounded, but it was out there now. “I mean, we’ve been together almost four years.” 

“I know.” Brackish stared at the table, suddenly really interested in that dark spot in the wood again. 

“What scares you?” 

Brackish sighed. “Nothing really. I guess I just got settled. It feels easier this way.”

Milton chuckled. “When have you ever been one to take the easy way out?” He’d known Brackish a long time; when it came to his work, he’d always been a risk taker. You don’t get into Area 51 if you aren’t prepared to think so far outside the box you need a telescope to see it. But personal lives and work lives were separate. Brackish drew a hard line in the sand a long time ago in that regard. 

“I don’t want to make it into this big announcement.” Again, if it was something to do with work, Brackish would have to be talked out of building himself a platform and podium and having leaflets printed to announce his newest discovery.

“I’m not proposing we do. Maybe we just… tell someone.” 

“Like who?” 

Milton pretended to think, even going so far as to stroke his bearded chin a moment. “Ursula?”

*

He was sure Brackish didn’t do it consciously, but he always wore more layers than strictly necessary. It wasn’t because he was cold, even if he did have a habit of wedging his frigid feet between Milton’s warm shins in bed. Milton suspected it was, once again, a confidence thing. Baggy clothes (and long hair for that matter) covered a multitude of sins—not that Brackish’s soft belly could ever be called a sin—and if Milton didn’t know any better, he’d have thought Brackish only became a scientist for the perpetual need for long lab coats with deep pockets ideal for filling with junk. 

Even when they slept, Brackish covered up. He wore long-sleeved pyjamas, the soft flannel kind. Socks. Always. In the evenings, he donned a long silk robe that almost reached the floor and looked like a superhero cape when it wasn’t tied at the waist. It was blue, like his eyes, only darker. Milton loved it, joked that he wanted to get a matching one for himself and sew their initials onto the pockets to avoid confusion, though he’d have to get a size up anyway. 

They were curled up on the sofa in their pyjamas when Brackish nibbled Milton’s neck the way he only did when he was horny—Milton was getting proficient at spotting the clues. They’d been intimate again a few times since that first night, and Brackish had gotten better at voicing what he wanted and how he felt. He was still self-conscious about his body, but they were working on it. 

“Mmm, that’s nice,” Milton mumbled, fixing his eyes on his book but not really reading the words. He hoped if he doled out his attention sparingly, it would encourage more nibbling. 

“Wanna go to bed?” Brackish asked, nudging Milton’s book away with his wrist like a cat trying to knock a coffee cup off a table. 

“I’m not tired.” Milton raised his book above Brackish’s arm, pretending to read from where he’d left off. “Unless you had something other than sleeping in mind?” 

“Maybe.” 

Milton lifted his chin, glancing at a blushing Brackish before turning back to his book and deliberately turning a page. Brackish pushed his nose into the crook of Milton’s shoulder. His needy kiss was a mere peck at first, but his lips pressed flush, parted slightly. After getting no response, he tugged the soft flesh of Milton’s neck into his mouth and positively chewed. Shuddering, Milton tossed the book to the floor and held the back of Brackish’s head so he wouldn’t stop. He inhaled deep and closed his eyes, felt goosebumps raise on his bare arms as Brackish wiggled closer.

“Sure you don’t want to go to bed?” Brackish whispered, pulling Milton in for a proper kiss.

“Actually, I think I’d like to stay right here.” 

Taking Brackish’s shoulder, he tugged him closer, encouraging him to straddle his lap while they continued kissing. They’d never experimented with anything away from the bed before, so he wasn’t sure if Brackish would be up for it. If the sofa wasn’t good enough, he’d happily follow him to their big double and continue this there. 

“I’ll crush you!” Brackish looked genuinely concerned. It wasn’t a no. 

“No you won’t.” Milton patted Brackish’s waist in reassurance, then his own lap. “I’m stronger than I look.” 

Panicking, Brackish looked like he couldn’t make up his mind. He hovered between making the move to reposition himself and staying put like he was stuck in a feedback loop. 

“I promise you won’t crush me.”

With a nervous expression, Brackish unstuck himself. “…Okay.” 

When he finally climbed onto his lap, Milton spread his thighs a little to accommodate him and let him get comfortable. He was far from heavy. 

“What a spectacular view.” Pulling him in for another kiss, he felt Brackish’s erection press into his belly and sucked in a sharp, surprised breath. “And it just got better.” It was unlike him to get so excited so quickly. 

Brackish was already panting. “Sure I’m not too heavy?” 

Shaking his head, Milton sucked a kiss at Brackish’s throat and began untying his robe. It was draped over them both, obscuring where all the fun was happening. Brackish pushed his hand away. 

“Don’t.” 

“Okay.” 

When Brackish stood, Milton thought he’d scared him off and went to apologize for going too fast, for being too presumptuous, being too anything, but Brackish cut him off, holding out his hand as though asking a trained canine to sit and stay. 

“Just, wait there a second.” 

He rushed off to the bathroom. When he returned, he looked almost the same as before, only now, the flash of shin visible above his socks and below the hem of his gown was bare. He’d taken off his pyjama pants, and that certainly was a surprise. “Where were we?” 

Settling back on Milton’s lap, Brackish whispered into his ear. “I’d like to keep the robe on.” 

“Of course.” Milton stroked both hands down the silk clinging to Brackish’s shoulder blades, feeling the texture of his pyjama top through the material, then lower to where… “You’re not wearing boxers?” He felt the smooth curve of Brackish’s bare ass through the silk and squeezed softly; the belated confirmation sent a bolt of heat to his groin. This was a big step. 

Brackish’s cheeks were pink already. They’d probably remain that way until the next morning. “They were a bit restrictive.” 

Milton knew better. If they were in bed, Brackish would’ve shuffled his boxers off under the blanket the moment their heads hit their pillows. In fact, by then, he’d probably already be pawing at Milton’s hand and leading it between his legs, pleading wordlessly for his fingers or his hand. This was just another way of getting what he wanted, and Milton didn’t mind one bit. 

Squeezing a handful of Brackish’s hair, Milton kissed him, lifting his hips to prove how excited this new arrangement had made him. Brackish whimpered into his mouth and gripped his shoulders. Milton couldn’t stop touching Brackish’s legs through the robe’s thin silk, feeling the shape of his parted thighs, the swell of his ass, the warmth of his skin seeping through the fabric and into his palms. As he felt Brackish’s hips, his knuckles bumped against something hard and cylindrical in the robe’s left pocket. 

“Forward planning, eh?” Milton chuckled, retrieving the lubricant from the pocket; Brackish must’ve grabbed it during his trip to the bathroom. “Mark of a good scientist.” Brackish said nothing, but his cheeks flushed darker as their eyes met. “You deserve some compensation for that.” Milton flipped the cap while Brackish watched, mesmerized. “Shuffle back, baby.” 

Brackish did so, clinging to Milton’s shoulders for balance and moral support while giving him more room to move. Milton made a show of slicking his fingers, coating them slowly and liberally while Brackish stared, all a-tremble above him, knowing exactly where they were headed. With some maneuvering, Milton got his hand through the part in Brackish’s robe and between his spread thighs. Carefully, he pressed his wet fingertips to his hole. 

Gasping at the contact, Brackish slumped forwards, forehead dropping against Milton’s shoulder, breathing hot onto his chest as Milton kneaded tight, wet circles into him. “Oh God.”

The angle made it easy for Milton’s fingers to press inside, and Brackish took them both with little preparation. They slid in deep, following the natural curve of his body, finding his prostate easily. Brackish shuddered, breath held high in his throat as Milton padded light pressure to it, easing his fingers in and out to ensure he was wet all the way in. 

“That’s it, baby,” Milton said, voice low and velvety. “That’s perfect. You’re perfect.” 

With a trembling laugh, Brackish clung tighter and turned his mouth into Milton’s neck. “You always say that.” 

“Because it’s true.” He pumped his fingers with a slow rhythm, feeling Brackish pulse and twitch with every inward stroke. “You just don’t see it.” 

He was dizzyingly hard already and found himself wishing he had the physical space or the coordination to bring himself off at the same time. There was no point in asking Brackish to help with his predicament; he was jello when there was anything inside him and that was that. His hands didn’t work. His head didn’t work. It was remarkable he was keeping himself upright without Milton’s support. 

“That’s s-so good…” Brackish stammered. “Please don’t stop, babe.”

“Don’t worry.” He kissed Brackish’s neck and felt him shiver. “You know I could do this all night.” 

While Milton eased Brackish open and prayed the odd angle wouldn’t have his wrist cramping up, Brackish’s hand flopped over his shoulder and slid down to grip his tensed bicep. Pride flickered in his chest when Brackish cursed under his breath. Despite not being the healthiest pathologist in the world, Milton always found time to lift weights in the morning – the facility had its own gym, but he wouldn’t be seen dead in it; a few dumbbells were all he needed. He’d lifted them more often since he had reason to – and getting naked in front of his boyfriend every now and then was as good a reason as any – and there was something intensely rewarding about Brackish finally noticing the difference. 

“You’d like me to do this all night, wouldn’t you?” Milton teased in a whisper. He paused his hand in the hope of provoking a response. The response he got took his breath away. 

Brackish rocked back onto Milton’s fingers, letting some of his weight go, sinking onto them with a whine before tipping forward and centering his balance using Milton’s shoulders again. 

“Oh fuck…” Milton’s eyes rolled back, his head going with them until it rested on the back of the sofa. His mind went to the obvious place: Brackish riding his cock. The mere thought threatened to make him spoil his pyjama pants that instant.

Deep in concentration, Brackish repeated the action, sinking back onto Milton’s fingers while clinging to his arms for dear life. This time he kept going, shifting his weight until he was rocking back and forth with a slow, uneven pace. He slowly adjusted to the new development and, once he’d gotten his bearings, turned into Milton’s neck and panted into his skin. “Is this okay?” 

Milton’s scoff bled into a laugh. “You doing all the work for a change? It’s more than okay.”

“Hey,” Brackish teased, nudging Milton’s shoulder with his thumb. “Shut up.” 

Zipping his lips with the pinched fingers of his free hand, Milton rucked his pyjamas pants down. While Brackish entertained himself with fucking himself on his fingers, Milton took his own cock in hand. The lack of relief was almost painful. Until he touched himself, he hadn’t realized how hard he was. It was the kind of straining, rock-hard readiness that would usually have him unable to string more than two words together. Before now, all his attention had been absorbed in Brackish, in making him feel good, reading and listening to his body. 

“God, I wanna fuck you so bad, baby…” The words slipped off his tongue before he could catch them, his hand pausing on his cock as Brackish stilled, his fingers knuckle-deep. 

“Yeah?” 

Reaching up into Brackish’s hair, Milton pulled him in for a kiss. “Wanna ride me?” He nibbled Brackish’s lip as he pulled back, looking up at him and trying not to look too pathetically desperate. 

Brackish immediately entered his excitable mode. Slipping his hand free of him, Milton held him by his waist with both hands, steadying him with a firm grip. This was something Brackish had to get through, an initial burst of giddiness that came with any new kind of intimacy. Right now, he was a visible bundle of nerves, embarrassment and anticipation, all giggles and gasps and stutters. It’d soon release, and he’d settle enough to think about it properly. Sometimes, once his logic wasn’t clouded with arousal and mild panic, he’d decide that Milton’s suggestion was perhaps something for another occasion. Most of the time, though, he’d be all for it. 

“What do— I… uh – can we...” His words muffled into Milton’s hair as Milton held him, patient, soothing a hand down the small of his back. “Is here okay?” 

“Absolutely. Shall I do the honors?” 

Brackish laughed, nodding, and Milton reached for the lube that had wedged itself between the sofa’s arm and cushion. With trembling hands, he flipped the cap and smeared a palmful of the cold, slippery liquid over every inch of his erection while Brackish stared like he was under hypnosis. The temperature helped: cold enough to shock Milton away from getting too lost in the stimulation. 

The lube tossed aside, Milton swallowed and wiped his hands on his pyjamas. It was up to Brackish now. Brackish, who was still staring at his cock with a mixture of terror and wonder; he’d never been face to face to it so brazenly before. 

“You okay?” Milton held his waist and squeezed softly.

“Yeah. I guess I never realized how big you were.”

Milton smiled and chewed his bottom lip. “Now that’s something I could never hear too often.” He pulled at Brackish’s robe without meaning to, threatening to part the fabric more than Brackish would want. “Sorry. Take your time.” Letting go, he sank back into the cushions and inhaled a deep breath through his nose, fighting back the urge to grab Brackish and pull him forward, on the edge of his nerves with need to be inside him. 

Visibly nervous, Brackish shuffled forwards a little, planting both hands on Milton’s shoulders. Milton helped with the angle, holding himself at the base as Brackish found the right angle. As he let his weight go, the head sliding in, Milton’s hand fell away, useless. 

“Oh yeah…” he breathed, eyes falling closed. He forced them open again. This was something he needed to watch. Something he’d probably masturbate over in the shower for weeks to come. He wanted to take Brackish’s hand in reassurance as he took more of him, but he couldn’t move. It was too good. Too intense. Too wonderful.

Once Brackish had all of him, Milton felt like he was about to change states, liquefy and melt through the sofa to join the nickels and used Biros trapped between its cushions. He had no energy to tell him how amazing he was or how good he felt. The fact that he’d managed to keep his eyes open at all was a near miracle. All he could do was stare up at Brackish in wonder, mouth gaping, sliding so far off the edge of the seat he was almost lying down. Brackish appeared to be in a similar predicament, but his mouth quirked as his confidence grew. 

All it took was Brackish to roll his hips for them both to gasp and groan and return to their earlier state of astonishment. He found the stamina to do it again and smiled when Milton moaned like he’d been run through with a sword. Clearly, he enjoyed being in control. 

Brackish experimented with the angle. Thighs trembling with the effort, he rocked back and forth on Milton’s cock, gasping through his look of intense concentration as he sent him into delirium. 

“Can I see?” Milton panted. He didn’t have the mental or physical capacity to elaborate. Meeting Brackish’s eyes, he mouthed a, “Please.”

In all this time, he’d never seen Brackish’s cock. It didn’t matter to him. He’d felt it, seen the shape of it through Brackish’s clothes. And God, he’d fantasized about it, imagined what his own would look like sinking into Brackish while his lay heavy against his belly. Well, don’t ask, don’t get, as they say. Now seemed like the right time. 

Brackish swallowed. “Okay.” 

Milton pawed at the knot of his robe with useless fingers. When it was clear he couldn’t manage it, Brackish took over the job. He untied the sash, nervous as hell, and let his robe fall open, the fabric parting like theatre curtains to reveal the main event. 

There was no other word to describe the view than magnificent. A pink blush blossomed down Brackish’s neck and chest as Milton stared. His cock was gorgeous, as slender as the rest of him with a slight curve to one side. Tipping his head to get a better view, Milton saw the base of his glistening cock buried between Brackish’s spread thighs and felt his balls pull tight. When Brackish moved, he grabbed at him, pulling silk into his fists as he continued staring, speechless, breathless, brainless. 

His orgasm took him by surprise, had him gritting his teeth in frustration because fuck, he could’ve watched that for hours. Brackish gasped when he realized what was happening, let his weight go so Milton would be as deep as he could be as he came. 

“Baby…” Milton couldn’t say another word. Two syllables were all he could manage. 

Brackish wasn’t finished, but he didn’t make a fuss. Not immediately anyway. After retying his robe, he waited patiently, pressing soft kisses to Milton’s cheek and chin and chest while his cock softened inside him. 

The determination not to leave Brackish unsatisfied outweighed Milton’s lethargy. It would require less energy if Brackish was beside him, so he encouraged him to shuffle up next to him on the sofa, legs draped over his lap. 

Once Milton had finished Brackish off with his hand, his robe’s blue silk hanging open and providing yet another wonderful view, Brackish asked, “So… what do you think?” 

“Like I said,” Milton whispered, kissing Brackish’s temple. “Perfect.” 

*

A packed travel case loomed at the foot of the bed. Milton’s clothes for the next day were stacked, neatly-folded of course, on the dresser in the order he’d put them on. A trio of Tupperware boxes crammed full of Milton’s signature potato casserole hibernated in the freezer. Early tomorrow morning, he was going off-site. 

It wasn’t a trip of his choosing. The facility needed someone with medical experience to visit the Los Alamos National Labs. Some new research involving a crossover between micro-circuitry and vascular surgery had caught their attention and they’d assigned their head pathologist to the case. If it could help with their investigations into the alien ship (or even the floating, formaldehyde-trapped freak show), it was something they wanted to know about. 

With such a sharp break in routine, Milton expected some pushback from Brackish. Remarkably, there hadn’t been any. Brackish was excited for him, had told him stories about his own visits to the Los Alamos labs during his earliest assignments and how much fun he’d had there. It wasn’t until tonight that something seemed a bit off with him. 

Their usual bedtime routine involved cuddling, Brackish always the big spoon and dozing off with his head pressed into Milton’s nape. Then there was the inevitable too-hot stickiness of falling asleep pressed against a warm body that would spur a half-asleep Brackish into rolling onto his back and settling again with his arms outside the duvet to cool off. Just before he fell asleep, he would slip his arms back under the cover and there they’d stay until sunrise. None of that had happened so far tonight. 

Twenty minutes after they’d switched off the lights, Brackish finally shuffled against Milton’s back. As he pressed his face into his shoulder, a tiny whimper escaped into his skin.

“What’s wrong?” 

No answer. 

“Babe?” As he turned to look over his shoulder, Brackish held him tight enough that he couldn’t move and shook his head against his back. 

“Don’t. Just—” His voice was cracked, like he’d been crying. “Let me enjoy this while I can.” 

He was so sweet. The week leading up to the trip he’d acted extra chilled out about it, made a real effort to disguise what a wrench it would be to have Milton taken from him for the first time since… ever. Milton saw through it. In all honestly, he was doing the same thing. He didn’t want Brackish to know he was worried about leaving him. The casseroles and the post-its he’d left dotted around their quarters—in the bathroom cabinet, the back of Brackish’s notebook, in the pocket of his favorite pants—would say that for him. 

“You won’t want to come back,” Brackish whispered, his voice trembling. 

When Milton went to refute that accusation, Brackish put his hand over his mouth. “You’ll have so much fun in New Mexico that you’ll want a transfer. Being topside. All that fancy schmancy equipment to play with. Why would you wanna come back to this pit?” 

Milton could think of one very good reason. When Brackish sniffled against his shoulder, wet eyelashes tickling his skin, Milton slowly peeled his hand from his mouth and rolled over, lacing their fingers and giving Brackish a stern look he wouldn’t be able to see without his glasses on. 

“Babe, it’s ten days. Two of those will be traveling. The other eight I’ll be stuck in a lab or watching PowerPoint presentations.” He was downplaying it, but that was the general gist. “Besides, I still have another three and a half years until my contract rolls over. I can’t escape that easily.” 

Brackish’s laugh was mostly a sob, a tear glinting in the darkness as it rolled down his cheek. “Don’t joke about that.” 

Kissing Brackish’s neck, Milton took a deep breath of him. “I wish you could come with me.” 

“I know.” 

“It’s better this way, though.”

Brackish sniffed, squeezed Milton’s hand. “Why?”

“Because if you were with me, I’d be tempted to elope. Running off into the mountains with you does have its appeal.”

Brackish wiped his tear away with the heel of his palm. “You’re an idiot,” he teased, before combing his fingers through Milton’s hair. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

It was rare for Milton to lie on Brackish, mostly because he spent the time worrying that he was crushing him, but tonight was different. Tonight, he wanted to enjoy the simple pleasure of resting his head on his lover’s chest, feeling its gentle rise and fall and listening to his heart beating. 

“Will you call me?” 

“If I can I will.”

“Promise?”

Milton stroked Brackish’s waist, toyed with the piped edge of his pyjama pocket. “I promise.” He leaned to kiss him, making a point of noting how soft Brackish’s lips were and not minding one bit that his hair was tickling him. “Don’t let the place fall to pieces while I’m gone.” 

“I won’t.”

They fell asleep facing each other.

*

It was the hottest day of the summer so far. Area 51 was air conditioned, but even that far underground they could sense the heat seeping through the walls, baking its way through the salt flats and warming the dry earth that encased every square inch of the facility’s buried network of rooms and passageways. 

There were rolling power failures in the labs. A bunch of pylons had melted in the heat and taken half of Nevada down with them, apparently. Milton’s specimens were returned to cold storage, the assistants and technicians on his team sent off to the common areas to wait out the power cuts in a cooler environment. 

Their quarters, supplied by a different power source, remained blissfully cool. Just as Milton was about to step into the shower, he heard Brackish come in. 

“Power failure?” he called out, pulling his towel around his waist. Brackish looked just as hot and bothered as he came and stood in the doorway, his lab coat slung over his arm.

“Yeah.” He looked thoroughly annoyed. “Halfway through the experiment.” He’d told Milton about it over breakfast. This test, one of the hundreds they’d tried to get parts of the ship to power up, required a continual supply of electromagnetic energy at alternating pulses. 

“I’m sorry.” Turning the dial outside the shower door, the head spat and gurgled briefly before a stream of cool water rained down behind the glass. 

Brackish perked up at the sound. 

“Would you care to join me?” 

To Milton’s surprise, he said yes. 

*

They stumbled out of the shower, giggling and grabbing at each other, dripping wet and smelling faintly of buttermilk, a towel shared between them. One thing had led to another behind the glass—mainly the shower gel being used for something other than its intended purpose—and as they made their way to the bed with purpose, the trials and annoyances of the day were forgotten. 

Brackish was more than comfortable being naked around Milton these days. He’d also started allowing discreet Vulcan kisses in the hallways; if anyone saw, they could make their own assumptions. It wouldn’t be long, Milton hoped, until they could be together openly (without Brackish worrying himself into a frenzy over it) and colleagues other than Ursula would know about their relationship. For now, in their own space and their own bed, Brackish wasn’t worrying about anything. 

With an almost belly-flop onto cool sheets, Brackish collapsed onto their made bed. Milton clambered beside him, twisting his drenched hair up and out of the way so he could kiss the space between his shoulder blades. It felt almost naughty to do such a thing in the middle of the day when they were supposed to be working—but if the weather said they should have the day off then the weather obviously knew best. 

Milton had been consistently hard since Brackish first suggested he finger him in the shower. Over the last year, he’d developed remarkable stamina regarding such matters. Brackish always took longer to get there, was extremely into foreplay, and liked Milton to take his time, so he kind of had to. A thought had kept Milton at full mast from the shower to the bed, one he wasn’t sure would go anywhere, but a thought nonetheless. As he kissed his way down Brackish’s back, he wondered how long it might take him to realize what he wanted to do, how low he wanted these kisses to travel. 

Specks of water still dotted Brackish’s skin. A sweet-smelling pool had formed in the small of his back. Milton dipped his finger into it, joined some of the bigger droplets with wet lines like he was painting a constellation onto him. 

Brackish flinched, laughed. “That tickles!” 

Using the towel, Milton rubbed soft circles down Brackish’s spine, starting at his neck, kissing the freshly dried spots afterward. The towel traveled further and further south, Brackish humming contentedly with each kiss. Milton kept it up, drying him then kissing him, inch by inch, the starchy swipe of the towel followed by the soft press of his lips. When he reached the swell of Brackish’s ass, he found he was nervous as hell to ask, to even suggest what he wanted. 

“Babe…?” He pursed his lips as the towel lingered there, a big, fluffy hint. 

Brackish’s arms were folded under him, cradling his face as he stretched out face down. He rolled his head to the side, wet hair sticking to his shoulders, and looked up at him with wide eyes. “Do it.” 

“Really?” 

Brackish nodded, swallowing. “Yeah. Quickly. Before I chicken out.” 

Spurred into action, Milton grabbed the fattest pillow from the head of the bed and bent it in half. 

“Lift up.” He encouraged Brackish with a hand on his waist and wedged the pillow under him until his backside was positioned in just the right way to give him easy access. “Is that comfortable?” 

“…yeah.” 

Settling on his knees at the end of the bed, Milton encouraged Brackish’s legs apart, stroking the soft, fuzzy hairs on his inner thighs as he shuffled and repositioned himself. The view alone had his cock aching. He couldn’t have imagined doing this a few months ago, couldn’t quite believe he was about to do it now. 

Resuming his trail of kisses where it had ended abruptly, Milton kissed the smooth flesh of Brackish’s buttocks, kneading them with both hands before slowly parting them. Brackish whimpered and turned his face back into the bed, a small shudder running through him. Milton let his breath warm the cleft of Brackish’s ass, aware his beard would be tickling. He massaged him with thumbs and fingertips and waited for him to stop trembling. That wasn’t going to happen, so he flicked his tongue over Brackish’s hole to see if he liked it. 

Brackish cried out, grabbing the duvet for support. He hadn’t chickened out yet. 

Another gentle lick provoked another cry from the other end of the bed. This time, Milton kept going. He teased Brackish with the tip of his tongue, drawing small circles around the soft puckered muscle and moaning into him.

“Fuck!” 

The sobbed curse seemed urgent enough for Milton to raise his head, worried. The moment he did, Brackish ground his jaw and demanded that he didn’t stop. Yes, sir. 

Brackish was already limp from head to toe, but the more Milton licked and lapped at the softening muscle, the more relaxed he became. It was that shuddering kind of relaxed where an endless stream of low sound escaped his mouth, uncontrolled and unapologetic. Music to Milton’s ears in other words. 

With the flat of his tongue, he licked wide strokes across Brackish’s hole with enough pressure to ensure he really felt it. He could feel his own cheeks burning hot as he closed his eyes and went to town, dipping the tip of his tongue inside and feeling Brackish jerk from the stimulation, teasing him apart with his fingers so he could press it in a little deeper. 

The strangled sound Brackish made at that had Milton’s toes curling, his hands grabbing Brackish’s waist and pulling him back sharp against his mouth, possessive and eager. He wanted to tell him how amazing he was, how good this looked; he usually heaped praise onto Brackish constantly, enjoyed their weak, whispered back and forth. Well, his mouth was kind of busy right now.

It wasn’t long before Brackish was soaked in his saliva, rutting against the pillow with urgency. The wet sound of Milton’s tongue working at him and the slide of his lips against his skin was loud in his ears, the flood of need to be inside him making his cock leak against the sheet. He was close. And from this. Just this! Without a doubt the most explicit thing they’d done together. The raw intimacy of it, the trust involved, it was off the charts. Milton was more than honored, he was stunned, and more voraciously turned on than he’d ever been.

“Baby…” He pulled away, breathless, letting his gaze slide along the length of Brackish’s back. “I, God, I…” He was a mess. That’s what he wanted to say. Close to blowing his load all over the back of Brackish’s thighs that very second like some horny teenager. 

“I need you inside me,” Brackish said, seeming to understand and to be in a similar state. 

“I won’t last long.”

“I don’t care.” He reached back awkwardly for Milton’s hand, grasping the air for it. Milton took it. 

“Where’s the lube?” 

Brackish shook his head. “I’m wet enough. Please – just do it. I… I need it.”

Milton slid along Brackish’s back, holding him against the bed and the bent pillow with his weight. He kissed the back of his neck as his erection rested snug in the slick cleft of Brackish’s ass. “You’ll really feel it.” 

“Mmm.” He didn’t seem to mind. 

The angle provided by the pillow made it so easy. All Milton had to do was lift his hips and their bodies did the rest. Despite the friction, his cock slipped inside effortlessly, shocked them both into silence at how good it felt, how explicitly intimate it was to have nothing but Milton’s saliva easing such deep penetration. Brackish was blisteringly hot, impossibly tight, and Milton felt every minute shift of his body beneath him as he adjusted to the intensity of it. 

Buried to the hilt, Milton held stock-still, way over his head. It was too much. He was going to come. Imminently. If he moved, that would be the end of him. Panting hard and fast against the back of Brackish’s neck, he pressed his forehead into his wet curls and screwed his eyes shut. Brackish was pinned under him, trembling and breathing just as hard, but he managed to reach up behind himself and cling to Milton’s hair.

The throb of Milton’s orgasm pulled a moan from his throat, the sound soaking into Brackish’s nape as he gave up trying to hold off the inevitable. His hips spasmed, his own actions surprising him as he grabbed Brackish’s waist for purchase and ground down into him, as deep as their bodies allowed. He came with a shout, shocked, amazed, the world focusing down into a spot of brilliant white as he almost blacked out against Brackish’s back. 

“Baby, I’m sorry. I tried…” He gulped a breath, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—he’d never actually drooled from good sex before, but there was a first time for everything—and collapsed against Brackish, bone-deep exhausted. 

“It’s okay,” Brackish whimpered, drawing his fingernails over Milton’s scalp. He knew he’d never be left unsatisfied. 

By the time Milton was on his back, breathlessly sinking into soft sheets and an even softer pillow, Brackish had snuggled beside him, a very obvious something on his mind as he hooked his knee over Milton’s lap. He always had enough energy to spare for them both. Energy to kiss Milton’s temple, wipe the perspiration from his forehead, and worry at his earlobe with his teeth. When that didn’t work, he linked his fingers with Milton’s and dragged his hand southward, erection bumping against his wrist as his hand settled between his thighs. 

The post-coital fog began to clear in the back of Milton’s mind. They’d probably need lube this time. He had no intentions of making Brackish sore, even if he was too impatient to reach over to the dresser less than a yard away. As he thought about it, he pressed a fingertip to Brackish’s hole and realized, belatedly, that he was soaked. 

God. That was him, wasn’t it? The wetness leaking out of Brackish, warm and thick, was his come. He shuddered, sliding his finger through it, and pushed it back in. 

“Yeah…” Brackish grabbed a handful of Milton’s hair, stifling a moan into the crook of his shoulder. 

Milton’s weak fingers slid in slowly, exploring just how full Brackish was, how ready. They’d never done this before. 

“That’s nice,” Brackish whined. Understatement of the century. “So nice...” 

Milton turned and kissed him, sliding his come-slick fingers in and out at an almost unbearably slow pace, sure he’d never felt anything so erotic. There was something deeply carnal about fucking Brackish with his own come, feeling it leak out over his knuckles as he teased his prostate and felt him clench and twitch around his fingers. His head swam with passion, a melting pot of lust and love and awe and a primal thread of emotion that threatened to get him hard again, hold his stunned lover down against the mattress and fuck him until he screamed. 

The chance never arose, however. Brackish finished fast, a trembling heap of limbs and drawling vowels as he came all over his stomach. 

A moment of ‘did we really just do that?’ fell over them both as they held each other, eyes closed and foreheads touching. Milton stroked soft circles into Brackish’s thigh and kissed his slack mouth until he found the energy to kiss back. Quiet moments like these were almost as good as the sex sometimes. 

Once they’d settled, Brackish was the one to finally break the silence. “Babe, I have perhaps the lamest suggestion ever.”

“Oh?”

He toyed with Milton’s chest hair, stroking it the way he’d stroke a cat. “Can we have a bath together?” 

“That’s not lame.” It was sweet. The kind of hopelessly romantic practice that had Milton smiling just thinking about it. Brackish pulled back and gave him a look that asked, ‘Seriously?’ and Milton chuckled. “Okay, you’re a total square, but I’d love to have a bath with you.” 

A sly smile pulled at one side of Brackish’s mouth and he nodded. “Go fill it then. There’s a good boy.” 

*

“Babe! Wake up, wake up, wake up!” 

Milton threw his arm over his face when the lights came on. It was five in the goddamn morning. 

“It’s on! It’s actually staying on!” 

“What?” When he finally cracked an eye open, he saw Brackish darting around their quarters, pacing so fast it was better described as a light jog. It was too early to work out what was going on, so he asked again. “What are you talking about?”

“The ship! Brown and Miodownik went down there early this morning, some surge or noise or something woke them, and it’d powered up!” He jumped on the spot, clapping his hands together. “You have to come and see it. It’s so beautiful!”

As Milton swung his legs over the side of the bed, Brackish threw his pants at him. “Hurry up! I don’t know how long it’ll last.” 

“Why do you think it came on?” His leg was in the wrong pants leg. 

“I don’t know but it might mean there’s another one nearby. If they share a collective power source, they might—”

“Wait. There might be an alien ship nearby?” Alien ships meant aliens. Milton might’ve spent the last however many years dissecting the ones they’d captured back in ’47, but they were dead as the proverbial dodo. Live aliens meant danger, and Brackish had a habit of running straight into the face of danger, especially when aliens were involved. 

“Yes! That’s why we need to get out there and study it, immediately!” 

Milton hopped on one foot as he finally got his pants on the right way. “Okay, okay. I’m coming.” 

As they went to leave, Brackish holding the door open for him, Milton seized him by the wrist, his expression stopping him in his tracks. “Promise me you’ll be careful? I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.” 

Touched, Brackish squeezed Milton’s hand in reassurance. “We can take whatever those freaks throw at us, babe.” Seeing Milton wasn’t satisfied with that, he kissed his cheek. “And I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for the discreet Vulcan kisses came from this gorgeous art: http://andwoids.tumblr.com/post/149441098513/discreet-vulcan-kisses-in-the-halls


End file.
